Debunking
by corneroffandom
Summary: Alberto Del Rio dwells on the Internet.


A/N: A long time ago I was asked why all of my stories were strictly kayfabe. Between that, and random other things I'd heard over the years, this story somehow was born. It's not completely like my usual stories, but what's the point of writing without going out of your comfort zone sometimes? Also, this is the start of the 31-Days-of-Fic I've mentioned in my profile as a way of giving back to my regular readers during my birthday month. For the duration of March, I will be posting a new story every day. During which time, my baby fic Back to Basics will hit 400,000 words AND I'll be uploading my 100th story on this website. :D So yay, milestones!

A spot. Like any other spot. Simple, or so they had planned. At the next pay per view, WWE wants to give Alberto Del Rio a truly clean, hard fought victory against Orton as a kind of repayment for the last few months of losses that he's endured against Sheamus- like one big win will make up for all of the equally big losses in the eye of the average fan. Neither he or Ricardo Rodriguez say anything against the plan, wise after the last few years to just take it as it comes. A match against Big Show this close to that match seems a bit foolish but it's the only way they can think to get what they want done, done.

And so, they go through with it. The spot, as mentioned, was supposed to be straight forward. Alberto failing at a snapping kick just to get caught by Big Show's giant hand, set up for a chokeslam. Ricardo throws the match by running in and clinging to Big Show (a really familiar spot for all three men by this point in time), Big Show slings Ricardo off into the turnbuckle and one quick punch later KO's him, leaving him incapacitated for the match that weekend. Except that it doesn't work that way- at all. The whole match is clumsy, off, as if they hadn't competed against each other a million times in the past. The fans are merciless, laying into them all for every little screw up and Del Rio's perfectionist streak- not to mention his pride- is taking a true beating even more than his body is.

Ricardo leaps onto Big Show's back as planned, clinging desperately, but when Big Show slings him off, there's too much force behind it- instead of landing with his back against the turnbuckle, he goes slinging over the much larger man's shoulder and face first into the turnbuckle post, everything fading to black for him immediately afterwards. He comes to here and there, but everything's blurry and distorted. His head throbs like someone took a hammer to it, and he can't remember much of anything. He thinks he hears Alberto's voice but it's far away, faint. Like he's in a bubble. He gives up, gives in to the darkness, the numbness.

Alberto scrubs at his face, grimacing. From the trainer's they had gone to the ER and he had been sitting here for... he's not sure how long, actually. Too long. Barely thinking past the blood staining the younger man's face, he had just managed to grab their things on his way out, spitting out angry Spanish until the EMTs allowed him to ride with, their bags sitting in the passenger seat of the ambulance. Ricardo's stillness is frightening, makes him think about the angle they'd worked awhile back where he'd had a severe neck injury following the Brogue Kick. That had been acting. This... isn't.

He stares at his hands, fingers tapping anxiously against his chair's armrests, looks around at the other people sitting and waiting, glances at the clock ticking painfully slowly overhead. This was becoming a habit of Big Show's, he mulls. He had caused Wade Barrett to require six months off for elbow surgery after recklessly slinging Dolph Ziggler out of the ring earlier in the year, and now... Now. Well. He huffs, shifting in the chair. Unable to sit still any longer without _something_ else to focus on, he begins digging through the nearest bag just to realize it's not his- it's Ricardo's things he's currently shifting through. He's about to withdraw and go to the other bag when his fingers brush against the glass surface of the iPad that Ricardo rarely goes anywhere without. Grimacing, he pulls the device out and stares at it, lips twitching a little as he remembers months ago, how excited the younger man had been when he'd bought the overpriced toy, showing it to anyone who would take a minute to listen to him.

Sighing, he brings it to life, sliding his fingers along its surface until he finds the mobile web browser. Sneering at the Twitter screen that comes up, he quickly leaves it, despite being unsure where exactly to go. The iPad has plenty of battery life, sure, but... He huffs, unable to focus on much of anything while the memory of Ricardo soaked in his own blood remains fresh in his mind. Finally he simply googles himself; egotistical perhaps, but he thinks maybe some of the ridiculous speculations and comments he sees about himself will help distract him while he waits. He'd seen some truly impressive conclusions made over the years of his time in the WWE about him, about Ricardo, about anyone and everyone. It'd be laughable if it wasn't so pathetic sometimes. Like the people who seemed anxious to assume that Alberto and Ricardo didn't get along in real life.

_Well, it had been somewhat true once,_ he concedes. But it would take a lot for this much time to pass with people's careers as closely connected as theirs were and _some_ meeting of the minds to _not_ happen. He looks up quietly as more people file into the waiting room, taking seats on the other side of the room. It's filling up in there, growing almost claustrophobic. He sighs, the night's events once more replaying in his head... the sight of Ricardo so still, so motionless, fresh in his mind. He scrubs at his face, trying to hold it together.

_Last December, he had been injured badly enough to require surgery to repair a torn groin. It had been the most annoying injury he'd ever had, and he'd had his share of them over the years. He had known as soon as he'd opened his eyes that things weren't right, that he'd be out for quite awhile. So close to Wrestlemania too. His temper running hot, he had been distracted by his thoughts to see Ricardo in the room after he'd awakened. The younger man hadn't been involved on Raw, selling his table bump from the night before, but had been in the backstage area at the time of Alberto's injury. He vaguely remembered seeing him nearby as the trainer examined him, nervously biting his fingernail while waiting for information. _

_Neither of them said much during that period of time, Alberto still out of it from the painkillers he was on and the residual bits of pain he still felt despite it. It didn't matter anyway when Ricardo disappeared from the room once Alberto's wife arrived, chattering on about how she'd received a call about his injury and had been on the first flight out, apologizing profusely for taking so long._

_"Who called you?" he asked once speaking didn't seem like an insurmountable prospect, soothed by her voice and touch. _

_She looked around the room, confusion in her dark eyes. "I swear I saw him when I entered... It was that ring announcer, Ri- Ricardo?"_

He's never understood that, why Ricardo had placed that call, had remained by his side until she had come, just to leave and never mention it again, but here, now in this moment, he thinks he does a little. Similar to how he had left Mexico behind, Ricardo had uprooted his life in California for this opportunity in the WWE, so the majority of those closest to him were clear on the other side of the country as well, and the thought of leaving him to wake up alone in a hospital room leaves Del Rio uncomfortable. He sneers at the tablet, pressing the button on the top of the device to make the screen go dark. "Assumptions, indeed," he mumbles, only looking up when a doctor approaches him a little bit later.

"You came in with Mr. Rodriguez, yes?" He nods at her and she takes a breath, eyeing the chart in her hand. "Well, all in all, he's lucky. He's suffering from a moderate concussion and will probably be in and out for the rest of the night, but we see no further reason to worry. We'll be keeping him for observation at least overnight, however."

"I can see him?"

"Of course." She smiles slightly as he stands, waiting for her to lead the way. "He's just come back from tests so we're still settling him in but you can stay for awhile. I won't say anything." He catches sight of a sign that says visiting hours end at 8 PM, which had passed hours ago, but decides to stay silent as well, relieved for the woman's understanding.

Machines are still being reattached to Ricardo's pale, unresponsive form when they walk in, the doctor smiling comfortingly as Alberto stares on, troubled. "The rest is good for him, try not to worry too much. His vitals are stable, and so far his tests have come back clear. We see no reason for alarm."

"Si, thank you," he says, distracted. When she finally leaves, the other orderlies and nurses following to give them some time alone, he remains by the wall and stares. The hospital had done an impressive job of cleaning Ricardo up, there little to no sign that blood had once stained the younger man's skin, much less as little as an hour and a half earlier. He shakes his head and ventures to the bed, settling down in a chair next to him. He realizes vacantly that the iPad is still in his hand and he lays it down on the table in front of his chair, turning once more to look at Ricardo. There's a glint of light reflecting off of his eyes, and... wait, what? He blinks and mutters, "Ricardo? Are you awake?"

He blinks wearily and releases a faint sigh, his eyes still open just a sliver. "Alberto?"

"Si." They stare at each other for a few moments, Alberto not liking the silence coming from the usually talkative man. "The doctor says so far your tests are coming back clean. You do have a concussion, however, and they'll be keeping you for observation for awhile."

He nods, then grimaces. "I... I don't understand," he finally mumbles. "Why are you here?"

Alberto sits for a moment, not sure how to take this. "If you want me to go..."

"No, that's..." Ricardo sighs, trying to work out how best to vocalize his thoughts, no matter how muddled they are at the moment. "I would've thought you'd be back at the hotel resting before the media tomorrow to hype the pay per view, that's all."

Still not sure if Ricardo just wants him to go or what, Alberto leans back against the chair, his arms crossed. "When I was injured last winter, you remained by my side until my wife arrived. Why did you do that?"

Ricardo blinks slowly, his eyes taking longer to open each time. "Um." He breathes heavily before finally explaining, "You didn't need to be alone while hurt."

"Neither do you," he says, watching as he loses his grip on awareness briefly, coming awake roughly once more with a confused look on his face once more, but it eases once his eyes rest on Alberto. "Sleep, Ricardo. They say you may be released tomorrow." Once the ring announcer is completely asleep, Del Rio sinks back against the chair, running his fingers over the fragile glass casing of the iPad. Shaking his head with a mirthless smile, he rests the device carefully back on the table next to the bed. _If only those idiotas could see _this...


End file.
